g of what she may think about it," continued
Belton. "I thought it best to come to you before I spoke a word to
her. And I know that in many ways she is above me. She is better
educated, and reads more, and all that sort of thing. And it may be
that she'd rather marry a London man than a fellow who passes all
his time in the country. But she couldn't get one who would love her
better or treat her more kindly. And then as to the property; you
must own it would be a good arrangement. You'd like to know it would
go to your own child and your own grandchild;--wouldn't you, sir? And
I'm not badly off, without looking to this place at all, and could
give her everything she wants. But then I don't know that she'd care
to marry a farmer." These last words he said in a melancholy tone, as
though aware that he was confessing his own disgrace.

The squire had listened to it all, and had not as yet said a word.
And now, when Belton ceased, he did not know what word to speak. He
was a man whose thoughts about women were chivalrous, and perhaps a
little old-fashioned. Of course, when a man contemplates marriage,
he could do nothing better, nothing more honourable, than consult
the lady's father in the first instance. But he felt that even a
father should be addressed on such a subject with great delicacy.
There should be ambages in such a matter. The man who resolved to
commit himself to such a task should come forward with apparent
difficulty,--with great diffidence, and even with actual difficulty.
He should keep himself almost hidden, as behind a mask, and should
tell of his own ambition with doubtful, quivering voice. And the
ambages should take time. He should approach the citadel to be taken
with covered ways,--working his way slowly and painfully. But this
young man, before he had been in the house three days, said all
that he had to say without the slightest quaver in his voice, and
evidently expected to get an answer about the squire's daughter as
quickly as he had got it about the squire's land.

"You have surprised me very much," said the old man at last, drawing
his breath.

"I'm quite in earnest about it. Clara seems to me to be the very girl
to make a good wife to such a one as I am. She's got everything that
a woman ought to have;--by George she has!"

"She is a good girl, Mr. Belton."

"She is as good as gold, every inch of her."

"But you have not known her very long, Mr. Belton."

"Quite long enough for my